A Cracked Door
by Elaby
Summary: A piece set after the explosion of the lab in episode 22, showing the reaction to Nagi's 'death' that we didn't get in the anime. One of the few pieces of writing I've done that I'm satisfied with. It mostly focuses on Crawford and Schuldich, but with sho
1. Default Chapter

Notes: This is a two-chapter fic, another behind-the-scenes type thing, taking place mostly after episode 22 when Nagi goes kabang. Unlike my other fic showing what you don't get to see, this one actually has a point. Sort of. Anyway, it took me long enough to write so that it damn well _should_ have a point. It's probably rated PG13 for language... darkishness and angst abound. Well, angst Schwarz-style...   
  
Oh, yeah. "Tadaima" is a Japanese greeting that you say when you arrive home, and "okaeri nasai" is one you say when you're welcoming someone home. They're usually translated as "I'm home" and "welcome home" but it's more like a... thing you always say ^^;; I think.   
  


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_ You should have listened to me.   
  
You remember what I said to that girl, to Takatori's brat daughter who had fallen in love with her own brother-- "Love in a glass artifice eventually shatters." I told you what I had said to her for a reason, you know.   
  
You should have listened to me.   
  
...Right, Nagi? _   
  
  
  


* * * *

  
Broken glass littered the floor around Crawford's feet, where Schoen hung over the frame like a wilted flower. Over her still form, framed by jagged glass, he could see to the floor below where Masafumi's regeneration tube had spilled its inhabitant out. At the edge of the liquid stood Nagi, holding onto the shoulders of the Schreient girl he apparently cared so much for. Tot stared at her murdered "family," and suddenly caught sight of the group at the top of the stairs-- and the girl Fujimiya Aya in Schuldich's arms. She shoved Nagi away, sprinting for the steps. Nagi grasped after her, calling her name, but she obviously only had one thing in her sight.   
  
"Give her back!"   
  
Tot dashed up the staircase. That girl was very important to her sisters! No one couldn't take her from them! They _needed_ her!   
  
"You're in the way." Farfarello appeared out from behind Schwarz's leader with the metal spear in his hand, and calmly impaled her through the stomach.   
  
Time slowed. Tot fell backwards down the stairs and crumpled to the floor, blood spreading around her.   
  
Nagi's eyes grew wide. "Tot..."   
  
_... And in that fragile, crumbling moment, Crawford saw something that was not reality flash before his eyes. It was not reality, yet he knew that what was now illusory would, in a matter of moments, become real._   
  
He was able as always to control the emotion before it reached his face, but he could not prevent at least some shock from leaking out in a whispered word that his companions did not hear.   
  
"_Nagi_..."   
  
The boy was too far away and his mind screamed too loudly for him pay attention. He slowly knelt in Tot's blood, lifting her body. She opened her eyes, tears welling, and smiled.   
  
"Nagi-kun... we didn't get to live together..."   
  
"Tot... no, no... don't die... don't die!"   
  
That last plea was screamed, all of the boy's usual mutedness exploding in a destructive wave of telekinetic power. Behind him, Weiß's leader noticed his sister in Schuldich's arms and ran forward as the floor broke beneath him, screaming her name.   
  
Crawford backed off, avoiding the falling debris. His voice was steady. "Let's go." Turning, Schuldich and Farfarello led the way out of the dissolving building.   
  
A bubble of white grew around Nagi, who had pulled himself and Tot onto their feet. He said her name over and over, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. "I'm sorry, Tot. I couldn't protect you, Tot." Then, tilting his head down to kiss her, all of his destructive power erupted in a pillar of blinding white flame.   
  


* * * *

  
A helicopter hummed over the decimated ruins of the laboratory, Schuldich at the controls, as Crawford sat with Aya's comatose sister in his arms. He gazed down at the wreckage, speaking almost automatically to his companions.   
  
"Now we've gotten rid of all the annoyances. We can take the girl to headquarters and start the ritual."   
  
The helicopter's blades churned loud in his ears.   
  
_Guilt... is an annoyance..._   
  
From the pilot's seat, Schuldich glanced sharply at their leader, and a wall of resistance was thrown up so suddenly against his mind that he almost flinched, stunned. With a puzzled frown he turned back to the window at the front of the cockpit, and seeing movement on the ground, made a small noise of surprise.   
  
"It's Weiß! They're alive!"   
  
Crawford looked up. "What?"   
  
"They just climbed out of the rubble... look, there's..." He paused, watching the figures group together, and glanced over his shoulder again. "All four of them are still alive." Schuldich leveled a look at Crawford, his expression saying what he didn't need to.   
  
"Land the helicopter."   
  


* * * *

  
The three remaining members of Schwarz stood at the edge of the forest, not venturing farther onto the field of broken stone and debris. Schuldich absently wiped at a bleeding cut over one eye and glanced over at his leader's expressionless face. Crawford's gaze flicked from Schuldich to the exploded ruins and back again, and Schuldich nodded, shutting his eyes and reaching out with the tendrils of his mind to search for that unique consciousness belonging to Nagi.   
  
His eyebrows furrowed. Usually, locating someone from this distance was instantaneous, but sometimes it took a bit of work if the person had been knocked senseless or was comatose. But it _was_ always there, however dim, as long as the person was alive...   
  
He opened his eyes and shook his head.   
  
Crawford was watching Weiß move slowly over the wreckage, and as the tall one knelt down to look at something he caught Schuldich's eyes again.   
  
Schuldich closed his eyes a second time, listening to what the tall one-- Kudou-- was thinking. There was pain, floating dangerously near the surface, but it was easier for Schuldich to go over that and tap into the thoughts on the outermost of Kudou's mind, the thoughts that directly concerned whatever he must be saying to his companions.   
  
Schuldich's fist clenched. He shook his head again, this time with a quick, jerkier motion.   
  
"We're leaving," Crawford ordered curtly, and they made their way back to the helicopter.   
  


* * * *

  
_You should have listened to me._   
  
In the room of stars, the computer console was conspicuously vacant. Schuldich leaned against one wall, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. He glared moodily across the room at Farfarello, who was sitting on the floor and carving with an almost ritualistic ceremony into his forearm.   
  
"Are you just going to sit there and mutilate yourself?"   
  
Without pausing, Farfarello replied, "It is proper." He didn't embellish.   
  
"It's that stupid little Schreient bitch's fault," Schuldich continued, as if he hadn't really expected an answer.   
  
"Must you always find someone to blame?" Farfarello asked casually, his blood beginning to soak the carpet.   
  
"Right, Farf. Why try to figure out who's really responsible when it's so much easier to just blame God for everything?"   
  
Farfarello's long knife glinted in the lights overhead. He shrugged, silent.   
  
"_You_ killed the girl," Schuldich went on. "Couldn't you see that he was in love with her?"   
  
"You're the mind-reader, Schuldich," Farfarello answered. The pattern of gashes on his arm grew more intricate.   
  
Schuldich pushed himself off the wall with his elbows, agitated. "Are you suggesting that it's my fault? That I should have known what you were about to do and stopped you? I can only read people's minds when I decide to. I couldn't have known what you were thinking unless I had a reason to read your mind right then, and what reason would I have had?"   
  
Farfarello was looking at him. He wondered if Schuldich realized that he was babbling.   
  
"I couldn't have known. There wouldn't have been a reason." Schuldich glared accusingly at the floor, his eyes narrow. "I'm not the one who can see the future."   
  
Farfarello's eyebrows went up.   
  
"_Shit_." Schuldich sniffled violently and kicked the wall.   
  
"Got a cold, Schuldich?"   
  
"_Yes_."   
  
Farfarello tossed the knife to his other hand and began working on his right forearm. Silence followed for quite some time as Schuldich moved to the black couch in the middle of the room and sat heavily on it, spread-eagling his arms over the pillows. He craned his head back, staring straight up at the double line of lights overhead and the stars twinkling beyond. He noticed that if he watched them for long enough, they seemed to move, to rotate as if projected in a giant planetarium. It made him dizzy, almost hypnotized him, and he was drawn into a nearly dreamlike state, out of which the soft click of the hidden door in the room of stars brought him with a jerk. Crawford shut the door behind him and it melted back into the expanse of stars.   
  
Schuldich lay his head back on the cushions, shutting his eyes.   
  
"Weiß is continuing to search for the girl," Crawford said, his voice clipped and official, strange after the long silence. "They could be a problem if they get any closer to Estet's headquarters. We will be expected to subdue them if the occasion arises, even in our..." --there was a mere fraction of a pause-- "...diminished state." He came to rest a bit stiffly on the couch to Schuldich's right, his body never relaxing for a moment. "Considering Weiß's previous track record, we will most likely be seeing more of them before long." His eyes moved to Farfarello. "You're getting blood on the carpet."   
  
The other man didn't cease in his mutilations. "God must be punished. God took Nagi from us."   
  
"Weiß took Nagi," Crawford said softly.   
  
"Trying to do us like Takatori, Crawford?" Farfarello asked, as casually as he had spoken to Schuldich before. "Weiß has always been a convenient object of blame."   
  
Crawford didn't react.   
  
Farfarello stood, shaking droplets of blood from his hands, and retreated to the room where he kept his straightjacket.   
  


* * * *

  
Schuldich would have opened his eyes again if it had not been for the stars, which he felt would suck him in if he stared at them for too long. He was aware that Crawford was still seated beside him, and that the man hadn't moved a centimeter in the time since Farfarello had left. Schuldich finally opened his eyes, unfocused.   
  
"Crawford."   
  
He didn't get a reply.   
  
"...All of this... did you see it?"   
  
Schuldich expected shock. If only a little. Surprise, at the very least.   
  
Crawford's mind was guarded better than anyone's he had ever come in contact with, and it was only rarely that he got glimpses inside. Once, perhaps twice, that Crawford hadn't let him in of his own volition. One of those times had occurred on the helicopter, and the reaction, the almost frantic slamming of a door against his probing consciousness was enough to drive him to distraction with curiosity. Oftentimes the most elusive thoughts were the sweetest.   
  
Schuldich expected shock. But what he received was utter blankness.   
  
Head still laid back, Schuldich's eyes moved to the man beside him. Crawford sat motionless, head tilted slightly to one side. His mind was a wall, devoid and impenetrable. His expression was equally unreadable, eyebrows slightly furrowed.   
  
Schuldich had seen him retreat like this before. It pissed him off. "Well?"   
  
Crawford blinked languidly, his pale brown eyes lingering for a moment on the breadth of stars that spread before him, and, expressionless, they moved to Schuldich. The red-haired man lifted his head slightly, surprised by the gaze that was somehow completely emotionless, and yet... _the barest flicker of an opening, like a thin slit of light cast by a cracked door..._ Then Crawford turned back to the starry wall facing them.   
  
Slowly, Schuldich slid down the cushion and rested his forehead on Crawford's shoulder.   
  


* * * *

  
The grandfather clock in the corner of the room of stars struck an hour after midnight. Crawford glanced at it through the kitchen door, where he was pouring himself another mug of coffee. Schuldich had retreated to his bedroom a few hours ago and Farfarello hadn't come out of his penance chamber since he went in, and that left Crawford alone to get some of his work done. He set down his coffee next to the keyboard at the computer console and sat down. With Nagi gone, _someone_ had to do the computer tracking, and he was the only person who would bother. He unconsciously blew the steam off his coffee so it wouldn't cloud his glasses and turned the computer on.   
  
What a strange question. Had he seen it. Where Schuldich was involved he could never tell whether it was accusation or concern, and this was no exception. Of course, telling Schuldich wasn't an option. And he wouldn't find justification for that by staring into his coffee, so he determined to do what he had set out to do tonight and get some actual work done.   
  
But somehow he couldn't do anything but absently poke the "j" key over and over.   
  
Crawford let out a sigh. Trying to get anything accomplished right now was futile. He told himself that he ought to just go to bed. He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of coffee.   
  
_That morning, he had taken a longer time than the others in getting his weapons and the group's attack plans together. Schuldich, Farfarello, and Nagi were waiting on the roof of Takatori's building, the helicopter sputtering to life a few yards away, when he finally joined them.   
  
"What's with you?" Schuldich asked, lingering behind as the other two Schwarz members climbed onto the helicopter.   
  
Crawford shook his head. "Nothing." He seemed hesitant to board. "I've just got a bad feeling."   
  
Schuldich grinned, a look somewhere between assurance and unabashed egotism. "Don't worry." He tapped Crawford on the arm and hopped onto the helicopter._   
  


* * * *

  
Schuldich turned over in bed, muffling a disgruntled murmur with his pillow. Of course it was only on the nights where one had to get up early the next morning when one could never seem to fall asleep. The sheets itched on his bare back. He had started to turn over again, brushing hair away from his face, when a soft knock came at the door. Schuldich grunted, reaching over his bandana and sunglasses on the bedside table to turn on a light.   
  
"I'm awake. Come in."   
  
The door opened to reveal Crawford, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants, and holding a mug. Schuldich squinted and sat up. There was something indescribably odd at that moment about seeing Crawford dressed like that, despite the years they had all lived together and the numerous times he had seen the older man in clothing other than a suit.   
  
"What is it?"   
  
Crawford stood for a moment, motionless, then came forward and set the mug down on the table. "I made coffee."   
  
Schuldich glanced from the mug to Crawford again, as if to say 'yeah, what did you put in it?' There was nothing spectacular about Crawford making coffee... he always made the coffee, after all, he drank most of it himself. Farfarello claimed that it made him 'jittery' and Schuldich only occasionally drank some at night-- he glanced at his digital clock-- but not at two in the morning.   
  
Crawford was still standing a few feet from the bed, staring almost through the red-haired man. His expression, blank as always, held the tiniest bit of introspection, as if his mind was grasping at some option his logic opposed. Schuldich frowned up at him. _I can't fathom you,_ he said to Crawford in his mind, knowing full well that the other wasn't opening himself to such messages, _...And I despise that._   
  
"What is it?" Schuldich repeated. He watched as Crawford drew in a breath, held it for a moment, then let it out again. His jaw tightened, and he turned back toward the room of stars.   
  
"Good night," he said, and closed the door behind him. Schuldich picked up the coffee and took a drink.   
  
_You were going to tell me, weren't you? Go ahead. Talk. Tell me what you saw, Crawford, because I know you saw something._   
  


* * * *

  
"We have a lot of work to do today. Headquarters has asked us to create false leads for Weiß to follow in their search for the girl, in order to give Rosenkreuz enough time to properly prepare for the ritual." Crawford paced in front of Schuldich and Farfarello where they sat on the couch, giving orders in the brusque voice he used when he was talking business. "They want Weiß off the girl's trail as soon as possible, preferably permanently."   
  
Farfarello paused in rubbing his dagger against a sharpening stone. "They won't give up looking. You saw the way their leader reacted when they found out we had his sister."   
  
"Nonetheless, our orders are to keep them out of Estet's business for at least a few days. I've already began to implement a plan that will send them false information about the location of headquarters. If they plan well, which they will, the building's security will keep them occupied for a lengthy amount of time before they even try to infiltrate it in person." He paused to shuffle through the papers he was holding. "I am aware of the fact that Weiß now outnumbers us. This is inconvenient, but we have a job to do. Because of recent circumstances, we have been rid of certain things that would have distracted us from our goal. Our superior powers give us the edge, and I expect everyone to work harder in order to make up for what skills we no longer possess."   
  
"_Che._" Schuldich snorted and rolled his eyes slightly.   
  
"Do you have something to say?" Crawford asked neutrally.   
  
Schuldich slouched down in his seat, glaring off to the side. "Drop the asshole act, Crawford. It doesn't impress us."   
  
"I don't intend to impress anyone."   
  


* * * *

  
At six o'clock that night Schuldich was sitting in the same place on the couch, looking at Crawford in a manner that was only slightly civil enough to not be classified as "glaring." Crawford sat at the other end of the sofa, going over some documents and effectively ignoring him.   
  
"I have a better idea than your stupid false information plan," Schuldich said eventually, breaking the silence that had started when he had come home. Crawford didn't respond. "There's a girl who keeps hanging around Weiß's flower shop," Schuldich continued, a little louder. "I've read her mind and she's obviously nuts about Fujimiya Aya. But she thinks he only acts nice to her because she reminds him of his sister, which I think is true." Still no response. "We could use her."   
  
Crawford stood stiffly, going over to the computer and turning it on. "Perhaps we could. If he has any feelings for her at all, no matter what their nature, she could be a tool to use against him. You can read her thoughts, I'll leave it up to you. However, I am not going to halt the plan I've already set into motion just because you think it's 'stupid'." His tone was utterly neutral, but held a note of "and that is that." He sat down and began typing.   
  
There was silence for a few more minutes as Schuldich narrowed his eyes at the back of the older man's head, now fully glaring. With a snort he swung his legs around and stretched out full-length on the couch.   
  
"You know, just because you shut me out of your mind doesn't mean I can't as easily read your expressions and body language."   
  
Crawford's fingers paused above the keys. "Nonsense." Gathering his papers, he left the room.   
  
"You don't mince words, do you?" a voice asked from behind the couch. Schuldich sat up and leaned over the back, frowning down at the pale-haired head below.   
  
"Farf. What're you doing back there?"   
  
"Listening." Farfarello sat with his legs folded, a half-dozen five inch needles laid out in front of him. "You won't get through to him, you know."   
  
Schuldich snorted again and lay back down. "Says who?"   
  
"Has he ever told you how he felt before?" Farfarello stuck one of the needles into the back of his hand.   
  
"No. And I can't get inside his head, either." Schuldich folded his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "But something happened on that helicopter... I dunno if you noticed..."   
  
"I noticed that you gave him a look like you'd just gotten your hand slammed in a door."   
  
Schuldich smirked. "Close enough."   
  
"Let it alone," Farfarello said. "Life's bad enough having to worry about yourself. Don't make it worse by worrying about other people."   
  
"Hmph." Schuldich frowned in his direction, then his eyes moved back up to the stars. "I guess I am a little worried."   
  


* * * *

  
Crawford made a lot of coffee the next morning. He also made scrambled eggs. Schuldich came in, yawning, without his bandana and sunglasses, and helped himself to some of the batch. He set his plate down across the table from where Crawford was reading the newspaper.   
  
"Good morning," Crawford said.   
  
"Yeah."   
  
They ate in a silence broken only by Crawford turning the pages of his newspaper until finally Schuldich set his fork down rather loudly.   
  
"Look. This is driving me crazy. You've never been the most emotionally open person I know, but you've been acting particularly strange lately." He waited for some kind of reaction, of which he predictably got none. Beating around the bush wasn't his specialty. "Tell me. Just tell me what you saw. Hell, just tell me _if_ you saw something, but tell me _something_."   
  
Crawford folded the newspaper and stood, picking up his empty plate. He continued to the sink without replying.   
  
He had started cleaning the frying pan with a sponge when Schuldich came up next to him. The red-haired man stood still for a moment, dish in hand, his eyes on the counter.   
  
"Brad... please..."   
  
_... Brad?_ Crawford's eyebrows went up and he stopped scrubbing. No one _ever_ called him "Brad." Other than his parents, he couldn't remember the last time someone had called him that. And coupled with "please," it had to be the strangest sentence ever to come out of Schuldich's mouth.   
  
Of all things, Crawford hated not knowing how to react. So he did what he always did in situations like these-- he continued scrubbing the pan as if he hadn't heard.   
  
Schuldich slammed his dish down in the sink and turned on the other man, growling. "Fine, Crawford. Be a prick. Lock up that private mind of yours so tightly that no one will ever find out you're really not such a cold bastard." He threw his silverware into the sink after his plate and headed for the door.   
  
"Schuldich."   
  
He stopped, his head tilting down, but he didn't turn.   
  
Crawford's knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the sink. "There is nothing to 'find out'."   
  
Schuldich looked back, his hand on the doorframe. His face held an expression that could have been pity. Then turned and left the kitchen.   
  


* * * *

  
_ Nagi and Farfarello had gone on ahead after they landed at Takatori Masafumi's laboratory, Farfarello anxious to start hurting things and Nagi looking nervous and worried. Crawford hung back, walking slowly. He ran one hand through his blue-black hair, frowning subtly. Schuldich walked beside him, glancing skeptically at the other man out of the corner of his eye.   
  
"What's the matter with you? You're acting really strange."   
  
Crawford waved a distracted hand at him. "It's nothing, I told you."   
  
"Then stop looking so worried. It's freaking me out." He grinned crookedly.   
  
Crawford sighed. Yes, he felt uneasy. And he couldn't explain why. He hadn't had any visions of consequence, and after all he could only see a few minutes into the future. But on occasion his power exceeded that, not in the form of oracular visions but in feelings, foreboding feelings-- like this.   
  
He shook his head. There was nothing he could do about it. The only important thing was reaching their goal. And this was an extremely important step towards that-- he had to make sure that it went off without a hitch. He couldn't trust Schreient to not screw things up. They were too uncontrolled and volatile. Unprofessional. They had been useful while they served a purpose, but now that purpose was over and he had to make sure that they didn't get in the way any longer.   
  
The little girl posed a problem, though. He sighed again. How could he have been so lax as to let Nagi fall in love with her? This would be troublesome.   
  
When they entered the laboratory, the girl was at the top of the stairs. She ran by them in tears, and when Nagi followed, Crawford let him go. It was no use berating him in front of the others, and it would give him a chance to talk to the boy alone later.   
  
As Schuldich and Farfarello waited with the girl Estet needed for their ritual, also named Fujimiya Aya, Crawford was outside waiting for Nagi. He had seen his conversation with Tot from afar, watching as the two young people... children... acted on the pretense of love.   
  
And when Tot dutifully went back to her "sisters" to prepare for their battle with Weiß, Crawford saw his chance.   
  
As Nagi was walking back to the laboratory, Crawford emerged from the trees and landed a slap across the boy's cheek.   
  
"Don't get in the way. Schreient is on fire about defeating Weiß. Don't do anything that would lessen their feelings of hate."   
  
Nagi glared away from him, his cheek burning red, barely concealing the rebellious look in his eyes. "But I--"   
  
"Shut up, Nagi." Crawford's hand clenched into a fist. He knew he must somehow deter the boy from doing this, from letting his feelings dig himself so deep that he would be irretrievable when it was over. Somehow. "Have you forgotten hate? Ever since you were a child, you were treated coldly. In this lonely life, you swore to get back at society. That's what Schwarz has striven to do. Isn't that true?"   
  
"I understand, Crawford," Nagi replied steadily, meeting his eyes. "No matter what happens, nothing will change the fact that I'm a member of Schwarz."   
  
"Then throw away your other thoughts until we reach our goal." Don't become involved. It will only get you hurt.   
  
He turned sharply and went back to the lab, leaving Nagi alone with his thoughts. _   
  
Crawford gazed at the cream swirling in his coffee, for some reason reluctant to drink. He thought maybe he should give up coffee. Lately he associated it with unpleasant thoughts.   
  
He couldn't understand it. He rarely resorted to physical violence. Finding a way to compel someone mentally was more his style, especially within his own group. He was surprised that he had been so high-strung as to strike out like that. And after all of it, nothing he said or did had any effect on the future.   
  


* * * *

  



	2. Chapter Two

  
  
The wind was sharp that night, and even though the sky overhead seemed about to burst with rain, there were a few strips of black night peeking through, dotted with bright stars. Crawford stood on the pedestrian bridge overhanging a busy highway near the edge of the city, the buildings thinning out here and giving way to forest and field. He leaned with his forearms on the low railing, head tilted upwards at the rent in the clouds and the pinpoints of light showing through.   
  
The walkway was all but deserted, and Crawford looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps crunch behind him. Schuldich appeared out of the deepening shadows, wearing a long dark grey coat.   
  
"There you are. What're you doing out here?"   
  
Crawford turned back to the outskirts of the city. "I felt like looking at the real stars."   
  
Schuldich grinned slightly; he could identify. He moved beside the older man, resting his elbows on the railing and facing back towards the buildings. "Do you feel like talking?"   
  
"No."   
  
Schuldich sighed. "Look... if it were anybody else, I wouldn't think it was my business."   
  
"And because it's me, it _is_ your business?" Schuldich didn't answer. After a few moments, Crawford's gaze moved from the sky to the rows of cars passing below. "There isn't much to tell. But yes... I did see it before it happened." Schuldich looked over at him, waiting for the rest of an explanation which never came.   
  
"Well? Why didn't you _do_ something?" He couldn't see Crawford's face.   
  
"It would have compromised the mission."   
  
Schuldich whirled on him. "The mission? The _mission?!_ Is that all there is to you? Nagi's _dead_, Crawford!"   
  
"I _know_ that," he said forcefully.   
  
Schuldich settled back against the railing with a cross expression. "If you were so worried about the 'mission,' you should have thought about what Nagi's dying would do to your ability to concentrate."   
  
Crawford's head jerked up.   
  
"Don't think I haven't noticed," Schuldich went on. "You make it seem like you've been getting all sorts of work done, but all you really do is sit and stare at the keyboard."   
  
Crawford turned back to the street below, speeding headlights flashing over his face. "Leave me alone."   
  
"Not a chance."   
  
For a while they stood there in silence. Crawford had raised his head to the sky again.   
  
"The stars have gone. We should be getting back." He made no move. "I suppose artificial stars are better than no stars at all."   
  
"Crawford..."   
  
Schuldich came up behind him as he leaned, bent, over the railing, and wound his arms around Crawford's shoulders.   
  
It began to rain.   
  


* * * *

  
The rain pattered against the seventh story windows of the hospital, curtains drawn because night had fallen. Behind them the figure of a girl sat up in bed as another figure of about the same size sat down next to her on the mattress. She held a stuffed animal close to her chest.   
  
"Do you have to go?" the silhouette in bed asked, mournfully.   
  
"Yes. I'm sorry. I must return to them."   
  
The girl bowed her head.   
  
"But I promise... when this is over, I'll come back for you."   
  
"And then we can live together?"   
  
"I promise."   
  


* * * *

  
"Farfarello, how long are you going to go without eating anything?"   
  
Schuldich stood outside the door to Farfarello's chamber, leaning against it and knocking every so often with his knuckles. He had a plate of something-or-other that Crawford had made for dinner three hours earlier (the most silent dinner of his life, he noted irritably) and a glass of water. There was no answer from within.   
  
"Farf? Hello?"   
  
Schuldich rattled on the knob. "I'm coming in."   
  
It was dark. In the dim light from the room of stars Schuldich could see Farfarello sitting on the floor, leaning his shoulder and head against the wall. His expression was considerably more blank than usual, and blood spread across the bare floor from a gash in his right wrist.   
  
"Ah, _shit!_"   
  
Schuldich shoved the plate on a table outside the door and grabbed Farfarello under the arms, dragging him out into the room of stars. He propped him up against the front of the couch, his head lolling on the seat cushions, and went to get some bandages and water. When he returned Farfarello was looking at his bleeding wrist with a little surprise. Schuldich knelt in front of him, grabbed his hand, and stretched his arm out to start cleaning the wound.   
  
"Imbecile, what are you trying to do?"   
  
Farfarello frowned a little. "I got a bit carried away, I think. When nothing I do to myself hurts, I forget that losing too much blood might kill me."   
  
"Well, we're already down by one, we don't need to make the odds even worse."   
  
Farfarello's brows furrowed slightly, as if he was pondering something. "But would it hurt God for me to kill myself?"   
  
"No, you idiot. God would be happy if you killed yourself because then he wouldn't have to be bothered with you anymore."   
  
"Wouldn't it hurt God if I went to Hell?"   
  
"How do you know you're going to Hell at all? Anyway, I think it would 'hurt God' more if you stayed alive trying to think up ways to hurt him."   
  
"I'm going to Hell because I don't want to go to Heaven."   
  
Schuldich glowered at the cut on his wrist and the reddening cloth he was using to clean it. "Just shut up and let me fix you, all right?"   
  
They were silent for a minute as Schuldich began wrapping gauze around Farfarello's wrist.   
  
"What do you want from him, anyway?"   
  
Schuldich glanced up briefly. "From who?"   
  
"Crawford."   
  
"I dunno." Schuldich sighed. "I wanted to know if he saw what was going to happen to Nagi before it happened. He said he did, but he wouldn't give me a good reason why he didn't do anything to stop it."   
  
Farfarello rolled his head over on the couch cushions to look at him. "You don't ever listen, do you?"   
  
"What are you talking about?" Schuldich said grumpily.   
  
"Crawford can't see more than a few moments into the future. Even if he _did_ see Nagi die, he couldn't have had time to do anything about it."   
  
Schuldich looked up sharply. "_What?_"   
  
"He's told us a million times. Just a while ago, even... oh... that's right, you weren't there."   
  
Schuldich ran a hand back through his hair. "God, I completely forgot about that... Wait, when?"   
  
"We were fighting Fujimiya Aya-- I don't know where you were, probably off harassing that Kudou guy. Fujimiya couldn't get a hit on Crawford because Crawford could see his moves before he did them, but he told him that he couldn't see farther than a couple of minutes so his gift didn't do him much good."   
  
Schuldich sat back heavily, the bandaging momentarily forgotten. _Then why didn't he..._   
  
It was if Farfarello could read his thoughts. Perhaps he had inadvertently sent them, or maybe the other man just had a talent for guessing what he was feeling. He had never been terribly good at masking his expressions. "You didn't expect him to actually admit to that, did you?" Farfarello asked, in the same matter-of-fact tone. "Admit to helplessness? Crawford? If you thought he would do that, you're more of an imbecile than I am."   
  
Schuldich said nothing, staring hard at the floor, then went back to bandaging Farfarello's wrist.   
  
"...and I _told_ you that worrying would only make things worse."   
  


* * * *

  
Schuldich stumbled into the kitchen the next morning looking like he hadn't slept at all. The fact was that he hadn't, at least not much, but he rationalized that it was Crawford's fault because the prick had locked the door to his room and wouldn't answer. Considerably more annoying was that Crawford hadn't exactly refused to talk to him, he just wouldn't say _anything_. Yeah, right, 'asleep.' Even Crawford couldn't stay asleep with Schuldich banging on the door like that.   
  
Schuldich didn't know what he'd planned to do if Crawford had answered him anyway. He knew better by now than to expect much-- that was clear, at least. But if there was anything Schuldich hated _more_ than feeling stupid, it was not being allowed a chance to fix it.   
  
Crawford was cooking breakfast. Schuldich sat at the table in silence for a rather long time, absently tapping the pronged end of a fork on the table then flipping it over to tap the other end. Finally he stood and went over to the stove where Crawford was putting butter into a pan.   
  
"Hey."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Heavy sleeper."   
  
Crawford ignored him.   
  
Schuldich sighed and scratched his forehead with his thumb. If it was up to Crawford, he didn't think they would ever speak to each other at _all_-- at least not about anything other than the "mission." Farfarello was probably right. But the fact that he shouldn't worry didn't make him worry any less.   
  
He had been kicking himself all night for not seeing it before, for thinking he understood someone that he clearly didn't understand. And he wasn't just going to let it go because other people chose to ignore it.   
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
For once, Schuldich got the desired result. Crawford stared at him with an expression that clearly said, '_Schuldich_ is _sorry?_'   
  
He went back to spreading the butter around the frying pan, silent for a while. Then he asked softly, "For what?"   
  
"You know what." He paused. "I know that if you could have done something... you would have."   
  
The knife Crawford was spreading the butter with stopped momentarily, and the butter began sizzling. Crawford's hand, with the knife still in it, rested on the porcelain surface of the stove. Schuldich tried to read his expression, but it was useless. It was just like the first night, the first time Schuldich had tried to talk to him. Schuldich stood beside him for a moment, watching him through slightly narrowed eyes, then turned and began to move towards the door.   
  
"Guilt... is an annoyance..."   
  
Schuldich halted.   
  
He turned, slowly. "That's it." _The sliver of light. The cracked door._   
  
The only sound was the butter hissing in the frying pan.   
  
"That's what I heard. When we left in the helicopter." He returned to Crawford's side.   
  
Crawford moved, picked an egg out of the carton and cracked it into a bowl.   
  
"Sometimes," he said, "You see things too late."   
  
"And sometimes it's not a gift," Schuldich said slowly, almost to himself. "Sometimes it's a curse."   
  
Crawford turned toward him, lifted a hand. His fingertips brushed Schuldich's cheek. He barely smiled.   
  
"How do you like your eggs?"   
  


* * * *

  
It was cold in the room of stars. Crawford set a mug of coffee down next to Schuldich, who was reading on the couch. Farfarello was sitting on the floor with a length of barbed wire, and Crawford held another mug in front of him. To his surprise, he took it.   
  
Crawford was about to settle at the computer when, in the stillness, they heard a muffled clicking as if coming from somewhere outside the room. A thin vein of light sliced the starry wall, traveling up, then over, then down again in a rectangle shape.   
  
The door swung open silently. There was a glare of light from outside, shadowing and silhouetting the slight figure who stood there before he stepped into the gloom and shut the door behind him.   
  
Schuldich stood.   
  
"... _Nagi_..."   
  
Nagi moved farther into the room, wearing the same serious, large-eyed expression as always.   
  
Schuldich awkwardly ruffled the boy's hair.   
  
"Okaeri nasai," Farfarello said. He smiled, for once without malevolence, as if he wasn't surprised in the least, and went back to uncoiling the wire.   
  
Crawford hadn't moved. He and Nagi stood facing each other, not speaking; then he went into the kitchen and returned with something that he dropped into Nagi's hand.   
  
"What's this?" the boy asked.   
  
"Medicinal cream. For your cheek."   
  
Schuldich only then noticed the dusky bruise on Nagi's face.   
  
Nagi nodded, and his hand closed around the tube.   
  
"Tadaima."   
  
  
  
~Owari~ 


End file.
